


Looking Through Pieces of Shattered Glass

by Sam_Nook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Air Force, Angst, Brothers, Character Death, Family, Human AU, Navy, Soldiers, inspired by linkin park's castle of glass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Nook/pseuds/Sam_Nook
Summary: Alfred was ten when his brother died. He didn't remember the funeral or the loud cries that filled the house after. He only remembered the silence. It had been deafening and seemed to cage him in. Alfred decided then and there that he never wanted that silence again.
Relationships: America & Canada & England (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Looking Through Pieces of Shattered Glass

Alfred was ten when his brother died. He didn't remember the funeral or the loud cries that filled the house after. He only remembered the silence. It had been deafening and seemed to cage him in. Alfred decided then and there that he never wanted that silence again. 

What he did remember was the man that came to the door, who spoke to his mother in hushed tones before kneeling in front of Alfred. Alfred had knew then, even before the man spoke, that his brother was dead. He said nothing, not as his mother squeezed his hand tightly or as the man walked down the driveway. Alfred wanted to cry, but he didn't. Not as his mother kneeled and pulled him into a tight hug or when he shut the door to his brother's room as he passed it in the hall. 

To him, it didn't feel real.

Alfred knew Arthur could die, his brother had made sure his family knew the risks when he left, but it didn't seem like it could happen. Arthur was invincible; nothing could take him down. 

But it happened, and now Alfred had to figure out what to do now. 

It was raining the day his mother and father packed up Arthur's room. The room had quickly become unrecognizable. The posters of random bands that only Arthur seemed to know disappeared from the green walls, his things were quickly packed away and hidden in the attic, and the few things Alfred took from the room had been a secret under his bed since. 

Alfred only cried then. Maybe it was because it truly hit him. Before that, he could pretend that Arthur was still out there somewhere, that perhaps the man was lying or there had been a mistake. But with the small green bedroom next to him empty and with white paint drying on the walls, Alfred couldn't deny it any longer. 

And so he cried. 

Only a few years later, the week before he was supposed to start middle school, did Alfred open the cardboard box that contained the things he had stolen from Arthur's room. He stared down at the few pictures, one that he and Arthur had taken with an old polaroid camera, before pushing past them to the few pins that Arthur had worn throughout his teenage years. With a sigh, he grabbed them and headed to his mirror. In the mirror, he looked nothing like his brother. Alfred was large and unconfident in Arthur's old brown leather jacket. Arthur had been confident and cheeky, and Alfred wished he could remember how Arthur managed it. He pinned the buttons to the breast-pocket and sighed again. 

"I'll grow into it, I guess."

Arthur always said you weren't born great; you grew into it. Alfred believed that wasn't true for Arthur. Arthur had been great from the start. 

Alfred had been thirteen when his little brother Matthew was born. The empty white bedroom next to his that had once been Arthur's was painted red and became Matthew's. The first night Matthew had been home, Alfred held him and wondered if Arthur had felt like this was Alfred was born. If Arthur had carried him the same way and whispered promises of being the best big brother, one could happen.

Alfred also wondered if he'd be just as good at being an older brother as Arthur had been to him. 

Right before his high school graduation, Alfred found himself once again looking through the worn cardboard box. He flipped through the photos and pulled out the medals that Arthur had earned in the Navy before his death. His grip tightened on the metal, digging into his hands, and he jerked as Matthew stepped into the room. 

"What's that?"

"Oh, these are Arthur's things. You never met him; he died before you were born. He was in the Navy, and an accident happened. I was ten when he died. He would have loved to meet you, and he would have been a better brother to you than I could have ever been."

Matthew's gaze was solemn and understanding, as if he bore the weight of Arthur's death too. Alfred supposed, he did.

"He was a good guy," Alfred patted the spot on the bed next to him, "how about I tell you about the time he drove me to the store when he was only fourteen."

The morning before Alfred's graduation, he stood in the mirror on his closet door and thought. Unlike the day many years ago, Alfred had grown. He wore the leather jacket confidently, and underneath the graduation gown, he knew Arthur's pins were still there. He had definitely grown, but Alfred wasn't sure if he was great yet. He supposed he still had some more growing to do.

Alfred's parents had been angry when Alfred finally told them his post-high school plans. Alfred knew it was bound to happen; after all, they had already lost one son. He hadn't expected his mother to burst into tears and so he left. He spent the night in the old treehouse that his father had built before Alfred was born and spent the night staring up at the stars, wondering if this was what he should do. He wished Arthur was there so he could have someone to talk to, but all he had were the fireflies around him. 

Somehow, that night, he knew he made the right decision. 

The last time Alfred visited Arthur's grave before he left for his third deployment, he brought Matthew with him. Matthew was nine then, practically the same age Alfred had been when Arthur died. They spent the morning there, and Alfred told Matthew the stories of his childhood with Arthur. As noon dragged closer, Alfred held out the giant leather jacket that had been his and once had been Arthur's. He smiled as Matthew tried it on. 

"It's a little big for you, but as I figured out, you'll grow into it. It just takes time."

Matthew was ten when his brother died.


End file.
